"Hellfire," Vernell said, rising up out of his rocker. "And here it is about supper time. Darned if that boy don't smell you cookin' from across town. Jimmy!" he yelled out, stepping down off the porch. "You're tearing up my yard!"

His yard! Vernell figured his outdoor duties were discharged when he bought me a used John Deere riding mower.

Jimmy stepped down out of his truck, his Braves cap twisted around backward and a Bud Lite in his hand. We were headed for trouble, I thought. Maybe food would sober him up.

"Hey, Jimmy," I called. "Come on in. You're just in time for dinner."

"Cain't stay," he yelled, like maybe with me being ten feet away I couldn't hear him speak in a normal tone. "I just come to tell you something." He was looking straight at me, ignoring his brother completely.

"Now, Jimmy," I said, standing up and preparing not to take any of his nonsense, "I made your favorite, fried chicken."

He hesitated, then took a few steps toward the porch. "Greens or beans?" he asked.

"Beans with tatters. Cornbread with cheese. And for dessert, I made a banana cream pie. So come on." I wouldn't have let him leave anyhow. Any fool could see he was drunk.

Jimmy walked straight as an arrow to the porch steps and sank down on the top one. "Banana cream?" His eyes had unexpectedly filled with tears and the hand holding the beer began to shake. "Aw man, I sure am gonna miss your cooking."

I sank down beside him. Vernell was eyeing Jimmy as if he were a subspecies. In Vernell's world, even a drunk man ought not cry.

"Jimmy, now you know Vernell's just kidding when he gets on to you. He don't mean nothing by it when he teases you for coming to eat so often." Okay, so Jimmy ate with us more than he did his own mama. I didn't mind. "We like having you here, don't we, Vernell?" I gave Vernell a nasty look and he grunted in our direction, still eyeing Jimmy the way a hound eyes a skunk.

"Not no more," Jimmy cried balefully, "I'm getting married. Next Saturday."

This galvanized old Vernell into action. "No wonder you's all emotional!" he yelled. "You about to go and let loose of your freedom. Hellfire!" Vernell let out a loud rebel yell. "Who's the lucky jailer, I mean, woman?"

I stood up and pulled Jimmy with me. "We'll talk about it over supper," I said. "When's the last time you ate, Jimmy?"

"I don't know," he said, not sounding at all like a lucky bridegroom.

"Well, that's your problem, son. You need something on your stomach. A man can't live by beer alone."

I led Jimmy into the kitchen, Vernell following, but still maintaining a healthy distance in case his brother were to start emoting again. They both sat at the table, content to let me run around the kitchen, setting out plates and silverware. The scent of fresh fried chicken and moist southern corn-bread danced across the roomy kitchen. It was my favorite time of day, the time when smells and sounds outweigh the reality of a home fraught with tension and too little love between partners.

I tried to stay busy and let Vernell and Jimmy do the talking, but I became aware that Jimmy was watching my every move, and pitching his voice so it would carry to me. I started to get a bad feeling about Jimmy's engagement, especially in light of the facts as they began to emerge.

"Her name's Roxanne," I heard Jimmy say. "She's a widow-lady. I met her out at Mama's Country Showplace." Great place to meet women, I thought, in a honky tonk made famous for the quality of its Saturday night bar fights.

"She used to skate derby for the Rockettes, but she blew out her knee. Got tripped up by a rival."

"How long have you known her, Jimmy?" I couldn't help asking.

"Four weeks. That was long enough for me. I know, you're thinking four weeks ain't much of a time to know no one, but I know all I need to know. She's it."

Vernell snickered and Jimmy just sat there. Any other time, Jimmy'd have been at his throat for insinuating, Jimmy didn't seem to care.

"Do you love her? Have you met her folks?" I couldn't help myself.

"Maggie," he sighed, "it's time. I can't wait forever, and it's time." The remark flew right over Vernell's head. Jimmy was getting married on account of desperation and loneliness. He was giving up on the notion of waiting for me to leave Vernell and marry him.

I did everything I could that night to bring my foolish brother-in-law to his senses, but with Vernell there, I couldn't speak directly. I tried all that week to hunt Jimmy down, because he was avoiding me. He knew I'd talk him out of marrying Roxanne, the twice-before married, ex-roller derby queen.

I didn't see Jimmy again until the night before the wedding. That's when all the trouble broke lose, and that's when I knew for certain that Roxanne and I would never have a sisterly relationship.

The rehearsal dinner, hastily arranged by Mrs. Spivey, was held at the Twilight Supper Club out off Route 29 on the way to Reidsville, It was held there for two reasons. It was the elder Spiveys' favorite place to spend Saturday night. And because they were regulars, it was the only place in town where they could secure affordable accommodations on such short notice.

The Twilight was a Greensboro institution. Set up shortly after World War II as a dance club to entertain the returning young Greensboro natives, it had not changed in the intervening forty-odd years. The house band that played all the big band favorites was still there, with most of the original members. The front door was padded with quilted leather and a big "T" adorn the door, traced out with large brass upholstery tacks.

Mrs. Spivey arranged the evening personally with Travis Dean, now an elderly man in his seventies. She rented a bus to pick us all up and had Flora's Bakery concoct a cake that she kept carefully concealed in a huge white box. She assured us that it was going to be an evening to remember.

The fact that Mrs. Spivey despised Roxanne on sight and principle made no difference in the evening's plan. Mrs. Spivey was just happy to be marrying Jimmy off. The way she seemed to figure it, a man in his early thirties, unmarried, was bound to be a reflection of his mother's shortcomings, and Mrs. Spivey was not a woman to have shortcomings. She had worked for Cone Mills for almost forty-three years, had risen to the rank of shift supervisor, and she did not take anything off anybody at any time. This included her sons and her weak-minded, passive little husband, Vernell Senior.

By the time the bus rumbled up our Oak Ridge driveway, forty minutes before the festivities were due to start at the Twilight, Mrs. Spivey had worked up a good head of steam. She was a large-boned woman with dyed auburn hair, rhinestone-rimmed, oversized glasses, and huge cubic zircon rings which she flashed at every opportunity. Because she had arranged for a bartender and a bar to come along with the bus, she and every other member of the wedding party were well on their way to being intoxicated.

When Vernell stepped up into the bus and saw that he was behind the others, he made a beeline for the bartender. I stood up by the driver and took stock of the situation.

The only person on the bus I could not identify was the woman who turned out to be Jimmy's intended, Roxanne. Roxanne five years ago was nothing like Roxanne today. In fact, when we saw her, Vernell and I each drew in a sharp breath, for what turned out to be different reasons. Vernell was impressed by Roxanne's cup size, while I was struck by the similarities between the two of us. Other than, of course, our physical measurements.

Roxanne was short, like me, only shorter, and she had bright red curly hair, the very same shade as mine. I looked from her to Jimmy and saw him smiling, a triumphant, what-do-you-think-of-that? smirk. I just shook my head. Now I knew for certain that something had to be done.